


like it better if we both pretend

by sugarcubeshiro



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, First Time, Loss of Limbs, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Prince Keith (Voltron), Secret Relationship, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, Size Kink, Virgin Keith (Voltron), the violence warning is only for a brief flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarcubeshiro/pseuds/sugarcubeshiro
Summary: There’s silence for a moment, and then a head pops over the balcony’s railing, and Shiro finds himself staring up at none other than the Crown Prince himself.“…Guard Captain Shirogane?”“Your – Your Highness.” Shiro stammers out, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal his face and show he’s no intruder with ill intentions, despite the Prince already having recognized him. “I am… terribly sorry. If I scared you, and for my forwardness.” He glances around, making sure they’re still alone before turning back, his voice softening. “But I was hoping to speak with you. Somewhere alone, and – uninterrupted.”“Is that so?” A flicker of a smile falls onto the Prince’s face, a simple quirk of the corner of his mouth as he props his chin on a fist, tilting his head when he looks down at Shiro. “Well, why don’t you come up here, then? So you won’t have to get distracted by constantly looking over your shoulder to see if we’re stilluninterrupted.”





	like it better if we both pretend

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary: author wanted to write some corny medieval smut as an exercise and it really got away from him

Shiro stands beneath the balcony of the Prince's bedchambers, the garden behind him long since dark with nightfall. Flames flicker from the torches lit up across the graveled path leading around the castle, and guards patrol their way around here non-stop through every hour of the day. Shiro knows he won’t have much time before the next guard on tonight’s duty will turn the corner of the castle’s wall and spot him.

Still, he hesitates.

The Prince’s room is to be watched at all times. The only reason the regular guards who are supposed to be standing outside with their eyes trained on the balcony isn’t doing so at the moment, is because Shiro had a couple of favors to pull with Thace.

And the only reason Shiro even knows any of this to begin with, is because it’s his duty to know all of it. As the Captain of the Royal Guard, he is the one to personally plan and oversee most of the routes and the patrol schedules around the castle.

The door to the balcony creaking open above him is so unexpected that Shiro takes a hurried step back and trips a little. He curses under his breath when gravel crunches beneath his boots just as he regains his balance. There’s silence for a moment, and then a head pops out over the balcony’s railing, and Shiro finds himself staring up at none other than the Crown Prince himself.

“…Guard Captain Shirogane?”

“Your – Your Highness.” Shiro stammers out, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal his face and show he’s no intruder with ill intentions, despite the Prince already having recognized him. “I am… terribly sorry. If I scared you, and for my forwardness.” He glances around, making sure they’re still alone before turning back, his voice softening. “But I was hoping to speak with you. Somewhere alone, and – uninterrupted.”

“Is that so?” A flicker of a smile falls onto the Prince’s face, a simple quirk of the corner of his mouth as he props his chin on a fist, tilting his head when he looks down at Shiro. “Well, why don’t you come up here, then? So you won’t have to get distracted by constantly looking over your shoulder to see if we’re still  _uninterrupted_.”

Shiro swallows, both because the Prince has a point, and even if this hadn’t been what Shiro wanted all along – which it most definitely is – there’s no way to deny a royalty. Still, it won’t change the fact that surely there’s more to distract Shiro far worse up there, than any nervous need to take in his surroundings down here.

“As you wish, my Prince,” Shiro says and gives a small bow with one arm behind his back to emphasize his respect for the request. The Prince looks equal parts amused and unimpressed when Shiro straightens up again, and Shiro has to tamper down his smile at it all.

It’s not proper, and it’s not professional, but the Prince has never made it easy for Shiro to stay either of those things around him. Besides, they’re both way past the point of crossing that invisible line between them now – or so Shiro hopes, at least, as he climbs up the old vines on the wall next to the balcony, or this might get even more awkward than he already fears it will. He takes the Prince’s outstretched hand when he offers it for Shiro, unable to turn down any help from His Highness as Shiro hops over the railing, despite knowing it only adds to how inappropriate this whole situation is.

“Do you often find yourself standing on the balcony of those of royal blood you’ve sworn to protect, unchaperoned and in the middle of the night, Captain Shirogane?” the Prince asks as Shiro finally comes face-to-face with him. The smile is clearer on his face this close, eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light from the clouded moon above and the torches still flickering with fire around them as he looks at Shiro, taking the smallest step closer.

“ _You’re_  the one I’ve sworn to protect,” Shiro reminds his Prince, incredibly aware of how he hasn’t let go of Shiro’s gloved hand yet. Shiro might have been given a number of tasks and sworn different duties throughout his career, but since rising through the ranks and reaching a position where he’s been entrusted with something as important and precious and irreplaceable as the man in front of him, the Prince alone has always been his priority. His responsibility. Shiro hangs his head, watching their joined hands, shy and uncertain all of a sudden. His stomach churns, both from the affection and the dread he’s felt ever since he realized the intensity and depth of his feelings. “But I would not do this for anyone else regardless, no… and as I’m sure Your Highness can see, I am not in my uniform at the moment.”

The Prince’s hold tightens just slightly on Shiro’s hand, Shiro lifting his own gaze in time to catch as the Prince’s eyes flick down to his chest, lingering on Shiro’s dark common clothes and the black hooded cloak he’s wrapped around his shoulders, both to keep out the chill of the night and to keep from gathering attention while walking here.

“I can indeed see that,” the Prince murmurs. Then he’s the one to turn to look over his shoulder, out at the garden drenched in darkness, before finding Shiro’s eyes again. “Would you like to step inside then, Captain? To keep things… uninterrupted?”

He shouldn’t.

He knows he shouldn’t, but Shiro knew he shouldn’t way before he made his way up here, too.

He knew he shouldn’t all the times he hadn’t, but it seems there’s only so much a man can go through before his resolve breaks.

Shiro nods, and still holding his hand, the Prince leads them inside.

There he finally lets go of his hold on him, Shiro’s fingers automatically curling into a fist, immediately missing the contact. The Prince closes the door behind them, pulling the curtains over the space of the large windows of the balcony door, and Shiro turns to take in the view of the large royal bedchambers for the first time in his life.

It’s a lot, but it still feels like it’s not much – a huge carved wooden bedframe, several chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, more furniture than any man could need in one room whether he’s a Prince or not. There are chairs and a couch and a fireplace, and the Prince even has his own bathtub placed in one corner of the room, inviting with its large size and promise of clean hot water before anyone steps into it, but all of it seeming so cold and impersonal.

Shiro’s eyes stray back to the bed, where there’s a desk against the wall next to the nightstand, the only space of the room feeling lived-in and homelike. Books and papers and small notes with scribbled writing too far away for Shiro to make out what it says lay scattered on top of the desk, as if the Prince has been sorting through them. Some are even tacked to the wall above it where there’s a map that’s been drawn on, and the knife Shiro recognizes as the Prince’s personal blade rests among the things as well.

Taking in all these seemingly small belongings spread out on the wooden furniture, Shiro feels like he’s witnessing a piece of the Prince’s personality laid bare. The young man Shiro gets to catch glimpses of in treasured moments when they’re alone – the one with a life of his own, with hobbies and passions and things he does on his own free will in the evenings once relieved of his duties for the day.

The one Shiro would like to call his friend.

‘The bastard Prince’, some other folks still call him.

Born to a mother never meant to inherit the throne who found herself in love with a commoner, a blacksmith living alone at the edge of town near the woods, spending his days forging weapons for the former King’s army. She was already well into her pregnancy when her brother, the soon-to-be King, was brutally murdered during a banquet. Second in line for the throne, the woman they now all bow to had been all but dragged home, and no one knows what became of the current Prince’s father – but it’s not all too hard to guess.

Of course, the story changes with every person asked to retell it. Rumors make it all the more muddled, details steeped in drama and gossip, and the tone of the story changes depending on whether the person favors the family ruling their land or not.

But Shiro has heard it all from the Prince himself, so he trusts the truth in his version of the events as they have been relayed to him.

“Is the arm working alright for you, Captain?”

Shiro turns back at the Prince’s voice, finally daring to properly take in the sight of him.

He’s since long discarded the heavy purple royal robes he’s required to wear in the halls of the castle, standing in soft-looking white night clothes instead – a simple cotton shirt and pants, with his crown nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the soft dark hair on his forearms as mesmerizing as the bit of skin revealed on his chest from how deep the cut of his neckline is. His long black hair is still loosely braided, the way he usually keeps it, and another surge of that sense of familiar fondness makes Shiro’s heart beat unsteadily, stuttering on its natural rhythm as he tries to handle the view in front of him, how casual and comfortable the Prince appears to be in this moment.

“Yes,” Shiro says, taking off his gloves and looking down at his own right hand instead, lifting it as if to inspect it for himself – as if he hasn’t considered it and studied it and turned it over a million times already in the past two weeks since he lost the arm he was born with. The grey metal it’s made of is an impressive blend of the most skillful handiwork he’s ever laid eyes on, and, Shiro suspects, not a small amount of powerful witchcraft, making it work almost the same as the one he used to have. “Yes, Your Highness. Of course. I cannot thank you enough. There is no way I could ever think up a worthy repayment to show you my gratitude.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” comes the reply at once. The Prince’s voice is not unkind, but firm, leaving no room for doubt about how sincerely he means it. Determined and resolute, like everything else about the man.

“…Perhaps not,” Shiro says as he looks at him again, because he might not agree with the statement, but you don’t argue with a Prince. Shiro has always been good at finding ways to work around what he’s allowed and not allowed to do around him, though. He dares stepping closer again, until he’s bridged the gap between them, until they’re standing so close they could touch if either of them reached out. The Prince blinks his big eyes up at him, as if surprised, like he’s forgotten he was the one to invite Shiro into his room in the middle of the night. He’s so pretty. Prettier than any person Shiro has ever laid eyes on before. He doesn’t know what to do with himself half of the time when he looks at the Prince, but Shiro wishes he could spend the rest of his life trying to figure it out while taking in the sight of him. “But I  _wanted_  to thank you, Your Highness – and not just for the replaced arm. For everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t be alive without you. There’s no repayment for that, either. For all my education, I have no words to describe how much you amaze me.”

Because that’s the thing about the boy they call a bastard Prince, the man Shiro is sworn to protect.

He is not a spoiled overgrown child, sitting petulant on his throne, snapping his fingers at servants and shouting orders at people he considers inferior. The Prince is the kind of man who throws himself into the fire of a fight to save his own personal guard, the man tasked to ensure the Prince’s safety, even after Shiro failed spectacularly at his duty.

The pristine and poised image of a future King with a crown weighing heavy on his head from its worth in coin, turned into the truth of who the Prince truly is at his core as Shiro fell to his knees. Trying to get up, even with twelve men already dead behind him and the excruciating pain at the end of his shoulder from losing a limb to a sword burning hot from its vile fire enchantment.

Shiro, watching as the thug responsible pulled the piece of cloth masking half of his face down to grin at him while raising the sword, preparing for a second strike, eager to kill the last line of defense standing between him and the Prince. Panting through the pain, Shiro couldn’t stop himself from doubling over, slumping forward and steadying himself on the hand he had left, digging his fingers into the earth of the ground and wheezing with the breath, trying to gather himself enough to fight back until the end.

His head snapped up at the scream of pure rage startling the silence that’d fallen over the forest, the clink of blades hitting each other swiftly following, Shiro witnessing just as the Prince himself plunged his blade through the thug’s chest. Snarling with his teeth showing, like His Highness was something feral, holding both of his hands on the hilt of his blade to drive it in deeper, not satisfied until it tore out of the skin and the back of the thug’s armor, only then loosening his grip enough to let the lifeless body thump to the ground.

Still breathing heavy and his face filled with fury, the Prince knelt next to the corpse, pressing two fingers soaked in red to the thug’s unmoving pulse-point at his throat. Then he’d yanked his blade back out from the dead body, getting back on his feet. Shiro watched with the last strength he had in him as the Prince’s gaze found his – standing before Shiro, with his expensive midnight blue silk clothes and silver crown and royal face drenched in the blood of the man who came for Shiro's throat.

All the anger vanished from the Prince’s expression in an instant, making way for wide-eyed fear and concern, the blade falling to the grass on the ground as he released his hold on it, running to catch Shiro just as his body gave out.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but the next thing he knew, Shiro found himself blinking up at the Prince, gathered up in his arms.

“ _Shiro_ ,” the Prince had whispered, Shiro wondering if this was a dream he had on his way to death – or perhaps it was the afterlife itself – as he watched his Prince above him, cupping Shiro’s face so gently with tears shining wet in his eyes. A long nasty wound slashed across the Prince’s cheek kept gushing blood down the pale line of his throat, yet he acted as if it was nothing; as if he didn’t even notice in favor of softly stroking Shiro’s own unharmed skin. “ _It’ll be okay_ ,” the Prince had promised, never taking his eyes off him. “ _I’ll make sure you’re okay, Shiro_.”

His Prince, holding him close while sitting on the dirty ground as Shiro felt himself grow colder and colder, unable to stop the tremors going through his body. Cradling him like Shiro was the one precious, using his informal name and tending to his wounds, refusing to leave Shiro’s side and sending his wolf for a healer instead, as if he couldn’t stand to let Shiro die out here alone.

Or let him die at all.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Captain Shirogane,” the Prince breaks the silence between them now, unable to look at Shiro’s face, his gaze trained on the floor, and maybe – Shiro notices in wonder – his cheeks seem to be red.

A man who murdered someone to defend Shiro’s life without hesitation or remorse, and still in here, alone with Shiro in his room, the Prince turns into a boy blushing worse than a sheltered maiden accidentally walking into a brothel, from a simple expression of gratitude over what he’s done for Shiro.

“I would remind you that you may call me Shiro,” Shiro says, bold enough to lift his hand to the small bump of the healed scar on the Prince’s cheek, just for a moment, keeping the touch feather-light as he strokes the back of his knuckles down the skin, making the Prince finally stare up at him wide-eyed again, “but if my memory serves me right, and it wasn’t simply the pain making me delusional enough to dream up things that seem too good to be true, Your Highness already knows that.” He drops his hand, giving the Prince a small smile. “Perhaps I should assure you, at least, I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

The Prince blinks at him, the shade of the blush on his face only deepening rather than easing up, but like a warrior not hesitating before delivering the killing blow, he fires back, “Perhaps I will consider it the day I hear you say the name ‘Keith’, my dear  _Captain_.”

It’s a conversation they’ve had far too many times before.

The Prince asking Shiro to use his given name, Shiro responding with the title as his only answer. The Prince has always seemed hurt by it, but Shiro has already toed the edges for what makes up a professional relationship enough as it is, tried and tested the limits for how informally he can behave around him without raising suspicious eyebrows or losing his post.

Taking the Prince racing with their horses despite knowing the dangers of leaving for the woods alone with no other backup and no one informed of their true whereabouts, sparring unarmed while wearing no protective armor and still holding nothing back as he’s slammed the Prince into the ground and settled on top of him with a smug grin. Laughing at jokes together until their stomachs hurt, ruffling the Prince’s hair to see him a little less put-together, not bothering to try to stop His Highness from giving Shiro the same treatment – too many small moments and not nearly enough of them all at once, where he’s acted as if they were equals, and this is how Shiro could be allowed to treat him.

He’s never wanted to view the Prince as either less or more of a  _person_  than anyone else, but the title itself has foolishly felt like his one last thing to cling to. The one last step between them to keep for his own sanity’s sake, to stave off the inevitable heartbreak he’s never truly stood a chance against.

None of it matters now.

Not anymore.

And the Prince deserves to know.

“Well, then,” Shiro says, reaching out to take one of the Prince’s hands, cupping it with both of his own, “please let me thank you. Please don’t brush off your actions as ‘nothing’ when you single-handedly saved my life… Keith.”

Maybe, despite everything else Shiro has done, every other way he’s acted out of line and all the things he’s risked for them to have their friendship, the man in front of him never really did understand why Shiro insisted on keeping the title for him. Not if the stunned expression on his face is any indication.

“Oh,” Keith breathes out.

“Thank you,  _Keith_ ,” Shiro repeats his name, holding his gaze while moving their hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles, “for saving me.”

Keith ducks his head, but he doesn’t try to pull away from Shiro’s touch, or his gratitude. “…I won’t try to stop you from saying it,” he says instead, looking up at Shiro again, “or tell you what to do, but – there really is no need.” There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation before he says, quiet and sincere, “Not when I can’t imagine a life without you in it. Not when I can’t imagine  _my_  life without you in it.” The words hang heavy between them once they’re voiced, Shiro staring in awe as Keith quickly adds, as if to save face from such a declaration, “Besides, you’ve – saved my life more times than I can count.”

“That is, quite literally, my job, Your Highness.”

He means for it to be teasing, something light-hearted to calm down the rapid way his heart is beating, but Keith squints his eyes, tensing up and closing off like Shiro’s a pompous lord clamoring for this attention, pulling back from his touch.

“I see.”

Shiro sucks in a breath, lets his chest rise and fall with the heaviness from it. “But you know by now that it’s not all there is to this,” he says, to clarify, to erase any doubt on Keith’s behalf. “It hasn’t been in a long time. I suppose there’s no use in trying to deny it anymore.”

Keith still looks suspicious where he’s watching Shiro, seeming genuine in his confusion when he asks, “What do you mean?”

Shiro furrows his brows, hesitating. Are they not on the same page, after all? Has he misread something along the way?

Maybe so.

He still meant what he said, though.

There’s no point in denying any of this anymore.

“My affection for you,” Shiro spells it out for him. “I hope Your Highness knows I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I’ve been trying to tell myself not to feel this way. To get over it. To focus on what I’ve been chosen to do.” He takes another deep breath, turning away to cross his arms, looking around the room once more, as if putting some distance between them will make any of this easier to say out loud. “Perhaps I really am a fool imaging things that aren’t there simply because I wish so badly they could be. Maybe you saved my life because your own was as much at stake, and let me keep my post and even defended me enough to grant me a new arm, despite my failures, simply because you still see some worth in me as a warrior. Maybe... I’ve just been lucky enough to be blessed with your friendship, and that is all there is to this.”

Shiro glances back at the Prince, but his face is unreadable, so he continues, “I know my place, Your Highness. I know who I am. I would never see myself as anything other than a humble servant, would never assume myself worthy of some special treatment, or demand your time or attention or – least of all, affection, but. If there's even the slightest chance of you feeling a fraction of what I do for you, then that would make the risk of bringing this up worth it, and I can’t stay quiet anymore. Not after what you’ve done for me. I owe you the truth. So if it turns out that I am wrong, and you'll have my head for this… then so be it. You're the only reason it's still attached to my shoulders anyway.”

Shiro turns back to him fully, uncrossing his arms to let them hang at his sides instead, standing open and unguarded in front of the Prince now when the truth has been shared in no uncertain terms.

The Prince steps into his personal space again, and for a second Shiro wonders if perhaps he might end up dead after all. Then the Prince says, “You’re not,” a hitch in his voice as his hands come up to curl in the clasps at the front of Shiro’s cloak, fingers resting by his throat. “You’re not imagining things. Of course you’re not.” Keith looks up at him, stunned and otherworldly beautiful.

Regal, not because he's royalty, but for the soul this man carries in his body.

“No?” Shiro whispers, daring to let the hope he’s been trying to push back finally flow freely through him, every inch of his skin feeling affected by Keith’s words, as if the confession is a physical caress he’s been waiting his whole life to hear.

Keith closes his eyes, tongue coming out to lick his lips as he presses his palms flat against Shiro’s chest, and despite the layers of clothes separating them, no other man’s touch has ever felt as igniting.

“I keep thinking about you,” Keith whispers. “Every time we’ve met, my mind keeps straying. Every time I see you across from somewhere, I can’t stop staring. I always expect someone to mention it, thinking everyone must have noticed by now. Every time my mother and Kolivan set up another meeting with a potential suitor all I can think about is how badly I wish it could be you. And every day I can’t wait to leave the castle, because I know you’ll be there to escort me, praying we’ll get a moment alone. I’ve cared about you for so, so long, Shiro. I was so sure you already knew.”

“Keith…” Shiro’s breath shakes out of him as Keith’s hands slide up and down his chest, his eyes opening to look at Shiro again when he trails his touch further up, his palms settling at the back of Shiro’s neck to hold him when he leans up.

“And at the end of the day,” Keith says, voice low, so close to him Shiro feels his breath on his cheek, “I dream of what it would be like if you showed up at my window, or sneaked past the guards in the hall to knock on my door. To hear you confess you feel the same for me, and I could finally find out what it’d be like to kiss you. When I lie alone at night and can’t sleep, all I can think of is how badly I wish I could have you next to me in my bed. To know what it’d feel like if I didn’t have just my own fingers but you were the one inside me instead.”

Blood rushes through Shiro’s body so fast he goes a little faint from it, a beat of silence stretching the moment of heated tension between them, before he gathers himself enough to  _think_.

“Is that what you want, Keith?” Shiro grips his hips, pulling Keith flush up against him so he can press his lips to his ear and feel him shiver under his touch when he says, “For me to kneel at your feet and show my devotion to you even in here, in your bedchambers?”

Keith’s body melts against his, enough for Shiro to have to hold back a groan over the pressure against his crotch when Keith rubs himself against him with the finesse and dignity of a spoiled cat demanding cuddles and cream. Shiro closes his eyes, because he would not mind giving the Prince either of those things. Wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, Keith tucks himself in against his neck, saying against the skin there, “Not out of a sense of duty, no.”

Shiro pulls back to look down at him, Keith’s cheeks having gone back to a precious red to match the scar Shiro’s responsible for him ending up getting, when he couldn’t protect his Prince the way he should have. “Keith,” he says, lovingly stroking a hand down the line of his jaw. “My devotion to you has nothing to do with the colors of the crown you’re wearing. Not anymore. I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you by now.”

Keith grips the front of Shiro’s cloak once again and tugs him down, a challenge in his eyes when he lets their mouths get close enough Shiro feels the words against his own lips as Keith speaks. “Prove it. Prove it by kissing me, by your own free will, because it’s what you want to do. Not because I had to ask you to.”

Shiro always did love a dare.

Especially one he knows for certain he will win.

He fists a hand at the back of Keith’s head, where the long hair hangs loose before the start of his braid, and crushes their lips together, moaning into the mouth of this land’s future King, reveling in the way Keith whines as he kisses Shiro back with a youthful eagerness Shiro hasn’t experienced since he was a teen and did this for the first time himself.

With the Prince’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, still chasing Shiro's lips with a desperate kind of hunger, Shiro slides his tongue deep and teasing into Keith's mouth, trying to show him how it’s done. He only lets go of his hold on Keith's hair in order to move his hands down his body, until he can place them beneath Keith’s ass, high on his thighs, and hoist Keith up in his arms. Keith startles enough to break the kiss, staring down at him wide-eyed, but recovers quick enough to lock his legs behind Shiro’s back. Shiro smirks, smug at catching Keith off-guard, and cranes his neck for another kiss, Keith readily falling into it once more as Shiro walks them across the gaudy room to the large bed.

He lays his Prince down gently before unclasping the hooks of his own cloak, letting it fall to the floor without care for where it lands when Keith reaches for him. Shiro takes his hand in his own, lifting it to kiss Keith’s palm, but he lets him go in favor of kneeling at the bedside instead.

There, settled between Keith's spread legs, Shiro has to stop to take in the sight in front of him with quiet amazement.

Keith, propped up on his elbows, hair wild and lips kissed red, his mouth parted with the way his breathing has gone heavy, the nightshirt he’s wearing ridden up enough to show the skin low on his stomach and the dark hair trailing down the middle, the invitation to where it leads making Shiro’s mouth water.

“Are you sure you really want this, Keith?” Shiro asks as he slides his hands up the front of Keith’s clothed thighs, pointedly not staring at the evidence of how much Keith does indeed want this currently tenting his pants.

Keith lets out a laugh, a short and self-conscious sound that has Shiro lifting an eyebrow at him, while Keith puts one palm over his face to hide. “I’ve, uh – yeah. Shiro. I’ve been sure I want this ever since you defended me after I punched that guy, Griffin, before the Knighthood trials.”

Shiro blinks, stunned by the admission. “Keith, that was – that was almost two years ago,” Shiro says, remembering exactly how much time has passed all too well, because it’d been not long after he started working for Keith; after meeting the Prince for the first time, when Keith was no more than nineteen years old, still a brash and temperamental thing looking for fights with every person who laid eyes on him.

“…Yeah.” Keith breathes out, lowering his hand again, his fingers curling in the bedsheets. “Weren't you listening earlier? I told you. I've been dreaming about this for so long.”

Shiro moves his hand to cup Keith through his pants, earning a sweet little startled noise in reward for it, Keith bucking his hips into the touch. “Then I guess we have a lot of time to make up for, don’t we, Keith?”

“I – I guess so.  _Hah_  – ”

“But – you know we…” Shiro swallows, and he doesn’t stop his movement, still stroking the clothed outline of Keith's length, but despite how turned on he feels – both from his own bottled up feelings finally being freed and how responsive Keith is – there’s fear clogging his throat, of knowing Keith feels this as deeply as Shiro does. “We will never be able to – … I mean they would never actually let us – ”

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, one hand reaching out to cup his jaw, Shiro pausing and letting his hand fall away when Keith sits up properly. He takes Shiro’s face in both of his palms, looking down at him, smiling like he’s holding something worth far more than his kingdom. “It’ll be alright.”

Keith killed a man drunk on some unknown foul magic who had already made his way through a dozen of this land’s best warriors; at this point Shiro suspects it’s a conditioned response for him to believe everything Keith says, no matter how impossible the situation itself might be.

Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s waist, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed and hugging him tightly, burying his face in Keith’s chest to breathe him in. The length of Keith’s cock presses against his stomach, still hard and wanting and in need of attention, but Shiro ignores it for now in favor of focusing on Keith’s hands stroking through the short hair at the back of his head.

“I don’t want to put you through something that’ll just end up making whatever you need to do in the future, and there’s no way for you to get out of, even more difficult,” he confesses against the soft fabric of Keith’s shirt. “I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”

Shiro’s never had a problem with caring about the people under his protection before, doesn’t want to be stone-hearted and impersonal and just another sword, but he never meant to  _love_  him.

Soon Keith will turn twenty-one, and it’s already unusually late for him not to be someone’s husband, the only reason for it being the kinds of complicated politics Shiro never did take too much personal interest in until there was Keith who would be the one married off.

“You know,” Keith says, guiding Shiro’s head back far enough for him to have no other option but to look up at Keith. “One of the things I’ve always liked the most about you is how you never act like you know what’s best for me.” Keith smiles, intimate and dear. “Sure, you’re pretty cocky and a bit of a know-it-all, and honestly sometimes you're surprisingly stubborn in your opinions for someone I know to still be doubting himself so much most of the time… but you’ve always,  _always_  only pushed me to be better, and braver, and follow my own heart – to be the best man I can be.”

“Keith…”

“No, listen. You – ” Keith stops, shaking his head before biting his bottom lip as he seems to be searching for the right words for whatever he needs to say. “You taught me to care about people again, Shiro. Do you know that? In a way I haven’t in a long time. I’ve  _never_  let myself care for someone as much as I care for you. I don’t want to lose that because we’re afraid of what might happen in the future… and I can't lie about my feelings for you. Not now. Not when I know you feel the same – I can’t go back and pretend like I never heard you say it.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers again, his voice harder to find, because the ‘future’ feels less like a distant thing and more something that'll turn up around the corner any day now, “I – … we both know what happened with your father. I just don’t want to put you in a situation where – ”

One of Keith’s pointer fingers presses to Shiro’s lips, effectively silencing him. Keith sighs, removing his hand as quick as he put it there. “If… if you don’t want to do this, I understand. Your heart is on the line as well, and – probably your life, too, yeah. I get it if it’s too much to deal with for you, and I know I can’t make any promises for how this will play out, but I swear I’d give my last breath to keep you safe and happy. You know how much I mean that now, don't you? All I ask is,  _please_ , Shiro, don’t push me away or try to stop this from happening because you think it’s what’s right for  _me_. You don't get to decide that. I have enough people telling me what to do with my life already.”

Shiro’s breath shudders out of him as he surges up to kiss Keith again, pressing him back against the mattress with the force of it, grabbing Keith's ass to haul him up into the middle of the bed so Shiro can lie down on top of him, the whole length of their bodies pressed together.

“Just to be clear,” Shiro says as he breaks away from Keith’s gasping mouth, tangling their fingers to push their hands down above Keith’s head, resting their foreheads together. “I could never be happy if you gave your last breath to save me, so – please don’t ever do that. I don’t want to live without you, Keith. I love you.”

He pulls back just in time to catch Keith’s reaction, the shocked widening of his eyes and the lift of his eyebrows, and still pinned beneath Shiro’s weight and stuck in his hold, Keith’s voice is a soft stunned thing when he whispers back, “…I love you too, Shiro.”

They both move into the next kiss, losing themselves in it until Shiro eases up on his grip on Keith’s hands to allow him to help Shiro get his shirt over his head, before returning the favor. 

He gently guides Keith back again once both of their chests are bare, trailing his lips down Keith's body, stroking his palms greedily over his skin and the defined shape of the muscles beneath it. Tugging Keith’s pants and underwear off, Shiro moves his mouth further down, clumsily getting out of the last of his own clothing as well, mapping out as much of Keith's body as he can with his tongue. Biting and kissing and loving, to truly teach the Prince what proper worship looks like, with Keith’s fingers tangled in Shiro’s hair as he gasps and writhes beneath his touch.

Shiro pushes Keith’s legs up to spread his ass open, placing a kiss there as well that has Keith keening, freezing up in shock under Shiro’s palms. Then he melts, moaning for more, and Shiro hums and whispers his praise for how good Keith's being before he does it again – and again, his tongue firmer each time. He pulls away while Keith’s still panting to ask him where he keeps the bottle he uses on himself, Shiro earning himself a frustrated noise and a vague hand-wave in useless direction as the only reply from Keith when Shiro leaves him to go get it.

He can’t help but to chuckle on his way back after retrieving it from one of the nightstands, watching with fondness as Keith lies with his legs spread, eager and impatient as he strokes his own cock with an urgency that has Shiro fearing this will be over a lot sooner for Keith than he has plans for if Keith keeps it up.

“Hey now, none of that,” Shiro says as he gets on the bed again, removing Keith's hand from where he has it wrapped around himself, kissing away Keith's pout when Shiro lies down next to him. He grabs behind Keith's leg, maneuvering him until they’re both on their sides, face to face, with Keith’s thigh resting over Shiro's hip. “No need to look so upset with me, Your Highness.” Shiro teases, leaning in to nip at his bottom lip. “I promise I’ll make sure you enjoy what I’m going to do to you even more.”

“Kinda wanna argue on principle,” Keith whispers as he watches Shiro coat two of his fingers in the liquid from Keith’s bottle, breath shuddering out of him when Shiro keeps his eyes trained on his while reaching behind, finding the opening of Keith’s tight little hole and pressing a fingertip to it, “but I already know you’re right.”

“Mm.” Shiro slides his whole finger inside without ceremony, can’t stop the affectionate smile when he takes in the sight of Keith as his face scrunches up, feeling him tightening around him, one hand coming up to dig his fingers into the muscle of Shiro’s chest.

“Oh – Shiro.”

“There we go,” he murmurs, catching Keith’s mouth with his own to kiss away his broken noises when he starts moving with intent, shushing the needy whines Keith lets out as Shiro prepares him, adding more fingers to loosen him up, until Keith’s rocking back against three of his thick fingers, practically riding Shiro’s hand. Despite knowing the answer, he can’t help but to ask, “You’ve never had another man do this to you, sweetheart?”

“Never – never wanted anyone but you,” Keith says, mouth open and eyes closed as he shakes his head. “Always only been you, Shiro.”

Shiro wouldn't enjoy this any less if Keith had slept with hundreds of men before him, but heat still spreads in his gut at the words, overwhelmed from being so cared for by him, to have Keith trust him this way. He groans, shoving his fingers in deeper and rolling Keith onto his back so he can press him into the mattress with the next kiss, Shiro only finding enough presence of mind to break away from Keith’s mouth once they’re breathless from it, reminding himself there’s so much more they can do. He makes his way down Keith’s body again, until he can wrap his lips around the head of his cock, sinking down to suck him off while Keith moans above him, clenching around his fingers and rocking forward in a desperate rhythm, as if unable to decide which sensation he wants to focus on chasing more of first.

“Please, Shiro,” Keith begs when Shiro is four fingers deep in his ass with Keith’s cock frantically thrusting in and out of his mouth, one of Keith's hands clutching at the back of Shiro's head to hold him in place. “Please, I – I have to – … Please come up here and get in me, I can’t – ”

Shiro pulls off, gasping for air and licking his spit-shiny lips, chin wet and messy from his own drooling after having his throat fucked so roughly. He gently removes his fingers from Keith’s hole, kissing the inside of his thigh in apology when it makes Keith whine. Closing his eyes, Shiro presses his nose against Keith’s skin, trying to savor the moment long enough he hopes he can commit it to memory for the rest of his life.

Then he gets up to do as he’s told; taking mercy on Keith when he's been so good for him, taken everything Shiro's given him so far, pushed to the edge but still kept himself from coming.

Shiro makes sure Keith's watching when he slicks up his own cock, standing heavy and hard between his legs despite having been neglected so far, grunting at his own touch and giving himself a little more attention than strictly needed, simply because Keith looks so sweet when he's staring, before settling in close to Keith’s body.

“Ready?” Shiro asks him, trailing his hands down the back of Keith's thighs to push his legs back and spread him open.

Keith swallows, licking his lips as he nods his head. Then he reaches for Shiro again, stroking his hands up his arms, his shoulders, down Shiro’s chest. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he says, hands still moving over Shiro's skin like he's marveled by him, sounding more awed than nervous when his eyes fall back down Shiro’s body, between his own parted legs and the sight of Shiro's cock there, just waiting for him. Keith looks up at his face again, smiling around his blush. “That – thing's huge.”

Shiro smiles back, trying both not to preen or turn bashful under Keith’s gaze. “Don’t worry, Keith,” he promises, thumbing over Keith's bottom lip. “I’ll take care of you.” He leans down to kiss him reassuringly, Keith sighing into it and relaxing back against the sheets, waiting and trusting once Shiro reaches down to take himself in hand.

He knows, deep down, despite Keith’s assurances and no matter how badly Shiro wishes he could believe in them, that whatever they’re doing can only lead to heartbreak. None of this will be easy, and for all he knows, any of the overwhelming euphoria they’re feeling at the moment will be switched for hurt come morning already, when Shiro needs to be long gone once whoever is tasked to wake the Prince and get him ready for his daily duties enters this room.

Yet as he finally guides the head of his cock to Keith’s still-tight hole and starts sinking inside, Shiro can’t feel any regret.

He does his best to keep his word, going slow and staying still when Keith needs him to, denying his own body its greedy want to be buried deep in the warm heat of the man he loves in one swift thrust, holding a firm palm to Keith’s chest to ground them both. Keith squirms in place beneath him, open-mouthed and overwhelmed from taking something so big for the first time, despite how carefully Shiro’s worked him open beforehand. Stroking his palm over his skin to soothe him, Shiro’s eyelids flutter shut as he feels Keith thrust back to take a little more of him inside.

“There we go, Keith, just like that,” Shiro sighs from the pleasure, Keith’s thighs tightening around his waist, his fingers digging in where they’re gripping onto Shiro’s skin, “you’ve always known just what to do.” Shiro opens his eyes again as he finally bottoms out, smiling down at the sight of Keith, dazed by the feeling of having his body yield and accept Shiro all the way in. He cups Keith's face with one hand, stroking his cheek as he whispers, “Look at you, baby… that's so good. I'm so proud of you, Keith.”

Keith shudders out a breath, flushed and beautiful and embarrassed all at once, and when he whispers Shiro’s name, begging him to move, Shiro has neither reason nor the willpower to object.

“ _God_ , Shiro, I – ” Keith pants with his eyes closed, turning his face into the sheets. Shiro brushes back Keith’s sweaty bangs, stilling once more as he kisses Keith’s temple, trying to steady his own breathing and keep his muscles from trembling.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just – so much.”

“I know, baby, I know. You’re doing so good. Just tell me if we need to stop.”

Keith makes a noise in objection at that, as if offended by the very idea, and Shiro can’t stop himself from the giggle leaving his body. The laughter makes him shift, both of them gasping.

“I – okay,” Keith says, still breathless. “Okay, you can move again, now.”

“You sure?” Shiro says just as Keith pulls him down for another kiss, Keith nodding in answer against him before parting his lips beneath Shiro’s. Licking into Keith’s mouth as he starts rolling his hips, Shiro pulls back to keep his eyes on Keith’s face, to catch every change in his expression, setting a steady rhythm once Keith starts moving with him, thrusting back to meet him.

He fucks in harder and Keith gasps, clenching around him like he’s greedy for it now, not wanting Shiro to leave instead. Shiro places his palms on the mattress next to Keith’s head, catching his mouth again when he bends Keith’s body further to change the angle, determined to make this as good as it can get for his boy.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith whimpers against him, voice cracking and overcome as Shiro starts driving into him without letting up; losing himself to the feeling and the natural need of their bodies, eager to give Keith everything he wants when he starts begging for more.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shiro whispers, both in response and praise for how good he feels, before kissing him as deep as he fucks him. He moves his hands to pin Keith’s hips down, swallowing every moan Keith makes for him as Shiro takes him hard and slow, relentless with the force of his thrusts as he snaps his hips forward but still wanting to draw it out as he pulls back – both to make sure this lasts and to know Keith will remember him for days when he sits and shifts as the Prince on his big silver throne.

His greatest fear about all of this before confessing, beyond Keith not reciprocating his feelings, was the thought of getting to hear Keith say he does love him back. Getting to have this, to have him, just for a moment, only for this to turn out to be all they could ever have.

One perfect night spent together, a few stolen hours when most of the world is asleep, where Shiro let himself find out just what he’s going to be missing once he loses it for good. Something hurting them both too much for them to deal with in the aftermath, since nothing lasting can come from this – but with Keith’s mouth on his and his hands clinging to Shiro and Keith’s body fitting like inside of him is where Shiro’s meant to be, Shiro knows, even if this does turn out to be all they ever had, it'll have been worth it.

If tonight is all there is, he still wouldn’t change a thing, were he given the chance to go back.

Not when he gets to hear Keith cry out his love for him when he comes between their bodies, back arching and nails digging into the skin over Shiro’s shoulderblades so hard it hurts, probably –  _hopefully_ , Shiro thinks, almost desperate with the need for it – leaving little red marks in his wake. Shiro gasps into the damp skin on Keith’s throat, licking up a line where his pulse beats to taste him as he uses Keith’s pliant body to reach the edge for himself, Keith holding him close and whining as Shiro fucks him how he wants him, hearing the breathless little, “ _Oh_ …” in surprise above him from Keith when Shiro finally spills deep inside, filling Keith up.

Shiro slumps, hips grinding weakly through it all until the very end, wishing once more that they could stay here, just like this, forever, for the last blissful seconds before the feeling turns into too-much and he has to let himself slip out of Keith's body. He might not have any regrets, but while still trying to catch his breath as he gets pulled up into a kiss that’s more open-mouthed panting on Shiro’s end, he can't help but to pray to whatever deity out there eager to spare a miracle that this  _won’t_  be all they have.

One way or another, Shiro silently promises himself, gathering himself enough to grip Keith's face and kiss him back, murmuring his praise for how amazing he was, asking if he’s okay, kissing him deeper when Keith moans in answer, hugging him tightly and stroking Keith’s body while reminding him how much he loves him.

One way or another, they’ll find a way to be together.

No matter what happens next, Shiro won’t give up on what he knows is meant to be.

“…Will you stay?” Keith breaks the silence to ask once their sweat has dried and their heartbeats started to come down, voice hoarse as he strokes his fingertips back and forth over Shiro’s shoulders in a mindless pattern. Shiro sighs, the touch beckoning him to sleep, despite knowing how uncomfortable Keith must be – still not cleaned up from taking Shiro’s release and now with Shiro’s body a heavy weight settled on top of him, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind any of it. “Just until the sun rises?”

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers back, his head resting between Keith’s pecs, arms loose-muscled and lax at his sides, stroking his thumbs a little over the patch of Keith’s skin that’s closest, focusing on the feeling of Keith’s body rising and falling with his breath beneath him. If they'll have his head for this, Shiro thinks again to himself, then so be it – and there's no surprise attached to the certainty he feels over how wholeheartedly he means it. He turns his face, just enough to press a kiss above Keith’s heart. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Keith scratches his fingers at the back of Shiro’s head, and Shiro doesn’t have to look up to know Keith’s smiling down at him over the answer.

Instead he closes his eyes, settling in where he belongs, and hopes helplessly the sun decides to never show again.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sugarcubeshiro) if you feel like it ♥


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